Sign of a Seer
by Demus
Summary: AU. Peregrin Took is a Seer. Whenever great evil threatens he experiences painful visions of the past or future. Unaware of his burden, he joins the Quest. Will he be able to survive his 'Gift?
1. Prologue

Very very strange story coming up. It requires explanation. I plan for this to be a series of snapshots of the Quest, mainly focused on the hobbits. It is AU. Pippin is a Seer. Seers, in my story, are people who experience visions of the past or future when something of great evil happens. Seers are recognised by magic-wielders and Elves by their Sign. Everyone in Middle Earth has a Sign, be it a lion, dog, owl, rat or budgie. It defines their character. The Seer's sign is that of a peregrine falcon. (oh, how original Demus.)

I hope that will help explain some of the events in this prologue. Please read and review. Enjoy!

Disclaimer: I do not own Lord of the Rings.

*****

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Prologue- First Sight

Bilbo grinned and leaned back in his chair, loosening his belt slightly. Yes, it was a good party. No, it was a fantastic party- nothing like it had ever been seen in Hobbiton, or indeed the Shire. He regarded his guests fondly. The long-lost relatives, the old friends, endless amounts of cousins and remote relatives to the ninth degree. His grin widened as he watched Frodo, Merry and Pippin make a quick dash behind a tent, hiding from some irate hobbit they'd just played a trick on. Ah yes, life was good.

A great stream of light and a huge bang was met a tumultuous amount of cheering and applause. Gandalf's skill at making fireworks definitely improved with age. Bilbo lifted his tankard into the air and beckoned his old friend over. The wizard came and sat down next to him, taking a grateful pull from the ale Bilbo pushed towards him. 

Bilbo winked at him. "Wonderful fireworks, my friend. As I said, this will be a night to remember."

Gandalf nodded. "It certainly will if those Took and Brandybuck cousins of yours have anything to do with it. I've never seen such rascals!"

Bilbo chuckled. "Meriadoc and Peregrin, you mean? Oh, they mean no harm, Gandalf. They just like to have fun!"

"Which is, of course, completely unlike you. I'm surprised you aren't down there with them, teaching them all your tricks," Gandalf said, smiling.

The hobbit chuckled again. "That would be no use, Gandalf. They're both far more inventive than I could ever be. Probably because they have two brains between them to cook up plots!"

Gandalf followed his friend's gaze to where Merry and Pippin, having been abandoned by Frodo, were eyeing a barrel speculatively and pointing at various places that would be no doubt covered in ale if they managed to topple it.

"They are very close, I see."

"Close? Ever since Pippin was born, they've hardly been parted! Aside from his parents and, I hope, myself and Frodo, Merry is one of the single most important things in Pippin's life, and Merry is so protective of him. It's wonderful to see them together-"

Bilbo was cut off by shouts from several outraged and dripping hobbits, who began to wave angry fists at the quickly disappearing backs of the gruesome twosome.

"Well, most of the time!"

Gandalf nodded thoughtfully. "A close bond indeed…"

"What are you thinking Gandalf?"

"Nothing, Bilbo, nothing. Anyway, I believe I have a firework display to get back to. I'll talk to you later Bilbo!"

"Certainly!" Bilbo sank back into his seat and took another gulp of ale. He wondered for a minute about Gandalf's interest in two of his favourite cousins, then shrugged and went to find the Gaffer Gamgee. He'd said that he'd bring some of his home brew with him……..

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Gandalf took a couple of fireworks from the back of his cart, his mind wandering. The young Took he had just seen interested him. It was well known to the elves and the Istari alike that every member of the Free Peoples of Middle Earth races had a sign, an animal that lived within them in spirit. His own was a griffin, a mythical beast with an eagle's head and wings, and a lion's body. His Sign showed that he was tough and ferocious in battle, wise and stout-hearted, and a wielder of magic. 

His brow furrowed slightly as a gaggle of hobbit children clustered around him, giggling excitedly. The young Took's sign was that of a peregrine falcon. The Sign of a Seer.

-----

Pippin skidded around the largest of the food tents and sank to the floor gasping. Merry rounded the same corner about three seconds later and tripped over the Took's feet to go flying on his face in the mud.

"Pippin! Will you please be more careful about where you place your feet!" he exclaimed, pulling himself up and brushing the dirt off his waistcoat.

"Well I'm very sorry I'm sure!" Pippin retorted, when he regained his breath. "But if you hadn't chucked that trifle at Mrs Bracegirdle's chest we wouldn't have had to run all this way, I wouldn't have collapsed on the floor with a heart attack and you wouldn't have fallen over! So there!"

Merry grinned. "It was worth it though, wasn't it Pip? The look on her face!" He feel backwards to lean against the canvas, chuckling.

Pippin smirked and rubbed his hands together, grievances forgotten. "Who d'you think should be our next victim? Cousin Frodo? That'd teach him to go wandering off in the middle of a prank!"

Merry shook his head thoughtfully. "No. You know Pippin, I reckon we've been thinking too small……"

Pippin followed his gaze as it came to rest on Gandalf's huge cart. He grinned. "You know, Merry, I think you're right……"

-----

"And don't even think about moving until all of those plates are spotless!" Gandalf fumed as two soot-smeared and now very sorry young hobbits set to work on the enormous stacks of washing up already generated by the party.

Merry scowled as he wiped at a plate. He hated being caught. And judging by the dark look on Pippin's face, he did too. But what a prank to pull. Merry grinned as the vivid image of panic-stricken hobbits fleeing in terror from a firework dragon came to his mind. He chuckled, his cheerful demeanour slowly resurfacing.

Pippin glanced at his cousin, wondering why he was laughing whilst washing pots. Daft Brandybucks. They were crazy, all of them. He sighed mournfully and reached out for yet another dirty tankard.

Gandalf puffed at his pipe, eyeing the two hobbits lazily. He recalled his earlier discussion with Bilbo. Yes, these cousins were extraordinarily close, despite their eight-year age gap. He absently blew a cantering smoke horse out into the air as he pondered. So close……Then he heard the cries of "Speech, speech!" from the crowd of hobbits, Merry and Pippin halting their labours to take up the cry.

Gandalf smiled as a slightly-more-than-tipsy Bilbo staggered up onto a barrel and began his Birthday Speech. He chuckled to himself at his old friend's riddle, knowing he was one of only four who understood it- himself, Bilbo, Frodo and, by the look on his face, Merry.

He became alert as Bilbo faltered in his speech, muttering to himself. He watched the old hobbit reach into his pocket and put his hand behind his back. Gandalf saw him fix his eyes on his beloved younger cousin and he knew that Frodo's blue eyes would be full of questions. He watched Bilbo disappear and swore under his breath.

There was an immediate uproar as the hobbits began to gabble and question and chatter. Gandalf grabbed Merry, who looked less shocked than he perhaps should have done, and looked him straight in the eye. "Listen to me, young Brandybuck. Go and find Frodo. Make sure he is all right and not planning to do anything rash. Try to keep him here as long as possible."

Merry looked puzzled but nodded and turned to dash through the crowd. Gandalf twisted to see Pippin looking very white. Cursing again, Gandalf strode over to him and grabbed the Took's shoulders, shaking him. "Peregrin Took! Come back!"

Pippin, trembling looked into Gandalf's eyes and the wizard was shocked to see the Took's bright green orbs glazing over. In his mind's eye he saw the youngster's sign, the peregrine falcon, cry out in distress. Pippin's glazed eyes rolled back into his head and he slumped. Gandalf carefully laid him on the floor, highly aware of the fact he needed to get to Bag End to find Bilbo but for now he was concerned about this youngster. 

The Sign of the peregrine falcon was rare and for a good reason. Seers only had visions when danger threatened or when an evil power or force was put into use. The fact that Pippin had collapsed when the ring Bilbo carried was used was enough in itself to prove that it was in fact the One Ring. 

The young hobbit twitched and moaned, perspiration gathering on his forehead. Gandalf placed a hand on the top of his head and concentrated. He connected his mind with Pippin's and saw that the Took was Seeing the Last Alliance of Elves and Men fight against the armies of Sauron. The youngster whimpered, a noise barely audible over the pandemonium of confused but still merry-making hobbits. Gandalf focused, forcing himself to draw Pippin out of the dreaming trance he was trapped in. 

Pippin's breathing quickened, a sign he was regaining consciousness. Gandalf lifted his head and searched those around him. His hand shot out and he grabbed the young Gamgee lad. "Samwise Gamgee! Look after Peregrin. He is somewhat shaken by tonight's events. Be gentle with him." With that, Gandalf stood and hurried towards the gate of the field, muttering to himself as he melted away into the darkness.

Sam blinked, confused, then kneeled down next to Pippin as the youngster's eyes opened. Pippin blinked at Sam and then launched himself at him, wrapping his arms round Sam's neck. The Gamgee steadied himself to prevent himself toppling over and wrapped his own arms around Pippin, his brow creasing in worry. As if things weren't odd enough……

Pippin clung to Sam for a few seconds more, then released him. He wiped at his eyes and pulled away from the other hobbit, blinking quickly as if to clear his eyes of tears.

"Are you all right, Mr Pippin?" Sam asked, worried by his friend's actions. 

Pippin took in a deep shuddering breath. "I am now, thank you Sam. I just," he hesitated for a moment then turned away. "I have to find Merry." With that, he dashed off through the crowd. Sam shook his head. What a night it was turning out to be.

*****

Thank you for reading this far. Please review and tell me if you like/dislike this concept. Should I continue?


	2. Protector prologue pt2

Good morrow, one and all. Here is the second chapter, in which we see what happened immediately after the events of the prologue. Really it's sort of Prologue B-the second bit of background I suppose. 

I owe much gratitude to the following for reviewing: Strawberry Shika, the-ringspell, Unhobbity Hobbit, pipinheart, Ice Ember, anon, Xena, Jenni, shirebound, szhismine, BleachedOrchid, Huh? and Lily-and-Frodo-Baggins. Thank you all for R&R-ing and encouraging me. I am glad that you like the concept!

So, onwards!

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Merry tightened his arms around Frodo as his elder cousin sobbed. Neither of them was in any doubt that Bilbo's dramatic disappearance was his way of saying goodbye without any tearful farewells. Bilbo hated goodbyes. But Frodo was distraught. Although he had known for weeks that Bilbo was thinking of leaving, that it had happened so abruptly had shocked him. 

Merry sighed. Poor Frodo. It was lucky that Gandalf had sent Merry to find him- in this state Frodo was easy prey for some of his less-than-reputable relatives.

Frodo sniffed and pulled away from Merry, who ducked his head to look into his eyes, smiling reassuringly. "Are you all right, cousin?"

Frodo took a deep trembling breath and smiled back a little tremulously. "I think so Merry. Dear cousin- what would I do without you?"

"Soak Sam's shirt probably. Or Pippin's."

Frodo let out a choked laugh and thumped Merry's shoulder weakly before standing up and brushing off his waistcoat. He sighed and wiped his face clear of tears with a handkerchief from his pocket. "I suppose I had better play the good host and restore order hadn't I?" he said, trying to keep his lip from trembling.

Merry reached out and took his hand. "I think perhaps it would be best if you went to find Bilbo before he runs off."

"No." Frodo shook his head. "He has already said goodbye, the best way he knows how. To have to say goodbye again would hurt us both too much." With that, Frodo smiled sadly at Merry and began to thread his way back through the crowd.

Merry sighed again, pitying his cousin his plight. He stood and began to walk towards the edge of the party field, away from the suddenly claustrophobic atmosphere of chattering hobbits and mysterious goings-on. He trod a familiar path up the face of a gentle hill and seated himself on the middle bar of the fence. He leaned his head back against the top slat and stared up at the starry night sky, thinking about Bilbo's departure and Frodo's reaction. Although distressed, his elder cousin hadn't been all that surprised. Strange.

Merry's thoughts were interrupted by a well-known but unfamiliarly quavering voice. "Merry?"

The Brandybuck looked down to see Pippin stood in front of him, a little way down the face of the hill. The Took's eyes were huge and round, bright with unshed tears. His hands shook and he seemed fragile and scared. Merry automatically stood and held out his arms to his cousin. 

Pippin let out a tiny squeak and rushed to him. Merry tightened his arms around Pippin as the youngster clung to his second-favourite yellow and red checked waistcoat. His brow furrowed with worry. "Pip, what's wrong?" 

Pippin's next words were a choked whisper. "It happened again."

"What?"

Pippin took in a deep breath and pulled his head away from Merry's shoulder. "It happened again Merry. I saw the…the battle again."

Merry groaned in sympathy and guided Pippin's head back to his shoulder, his brow furrowing even more as he murmured comforting nothings to his beloved cousin. He remembered the first time this had happened……

*FLASHBACK*

16-year-old Meriadoc Brandybuck woke with a start to feel a small shivering body dive under the covers of his bed and curl up next to him. He blinked sleepily and reached down to pull 8-year-old Peregrin Took into his arms. "Wha's wrong Pip?" he asked, blearily.

"Had another nightmare." Pippin burrowed into Merry's warmth, his shivering decreasing somewhat.

Merry leaned down to look into Pippin's face, which was only half-visible in the dark. "Want to talk about it?"

Pippin shook his head vigorously, but started to speak anyway. "Just the same as always, Mer. Lots of Big People fighting next to a huge mountain and fire and smoke and shiny, sharp steel glinting and screams." Pippin let out a tiny sob. "I can hear them scream inside my head, Mer."

Merry shushed him gently and placed a kiss on his curls. "Poor Pip. Don't worry, I'm here and it's gone now."

"But Merry," Pippin looked up and his fear-wide eyes glimmered with tears in the dark. "But Merry, it always comes back."

*END FLASHBACK*

"It always comes back." Merry shook his head and tightened his grip on his cousin. Yes, those terrifying dreams did come back. But they weren't regular, they didn't happen in a set order. It was totally random, and Pippin seemed to be worse off every time. As he got older, the dreams or vision or whatever they were became longer, more vivid, more violent. And only Merry was able to help. Only Merry was able to soothe the youngster after one of the horrible dreams.

Pippin made a snuffling noise deep in his throat and stepped out of Merry's protective embrace, wiping his eyes on his sleeve. The Brandybuck reached out and clasped his arm. "Are you all right Pippin?"

It seemed a ridiculous question, but Pippin nodded and smiled a shaky smile. "Yes, I think so Merry. I think it has gone again." He rubbed at his eyes, as if to scrub away the memory of his vision.

Merry suddenly had a thought. "Pippin, what happened just before you…saw the battle?"

Pippin frowned. "Well, the last thing I remember is Cousin Bilbo giving that speech of his, then there was a lot of noise and I was falling. I was floating through a sort of black fog, which then cleared and I saw the battle, and I was screaming Merry, screaming as I watched them die. And I heard a deep voice over the noise of the battle, telling me to come back. When I woke up I was lying on the floor next to Sam."

"Sam? Where did he come from?"

"Haven't the foggiest. And I didn't know whose voice it was Mer," Pippin's eyes were thoughtful, but they were starting to droop slightly with the unusual tiredness that always followed Pippin's 'dreams'. "I thought perhaps it might have been you, but it wasn't."

Merry put an arm around Pippin's shoulders and they started back down the path together. "Well, whoever it was Pip, I am very grateful to them. I just wish they could have stayed around to tell us why this happens to you."

Pippin leaned his head against Merry's shoulder again. "So do I, Mer. But now I am so very tired……"

Merry shushed him and steadied the Took as he stumbled slightly, eyes beginning to close. "Hush now Pip, keep going for a minute, my lad. Just until we get you to a bed."

Pippin smiled sleepily. "T'nk you Mer," he said drowsily, as his body became limp.

Merry grunted as he supported Pippin's weight, his mind still questing for answers to seemingly-unsolvable question. What triggered these visions? Why did they happen? And who had known enough about them to help Pippin recover from one?

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Please R&R! 


	3. Is it secret? Is it safe?

Wow. I am absolutely amazed at how well my little story has been received- thank you so much to all of my reviewers: r-z (x2), Strawberry Shika, Blackcat46, shirebound, anon, pipinheart, Shadowed Flames, Xena, Olivia Sutton, Jenni, szhismine, Ice Ember and pru.

So, on we go. This chapter is set several years after the Big Party. During that time Pippin's visions have been relatively infrequent and there has been no major event anywhere in Middle Earth to trigger an evil dream of past, present or future. At this point in time Frodo is still unaware of Pippin's 'Gift' as Merry and Pippin haven't found it necessary to worry him with it.

Disclaimer: I do not own The Lord of the Rings.

*****

Late summer. The lazy sun cast its tired golden eye over the simple beauty of the Shire, smiling at the rolling hills and carefully farmed countryside. Hobbit children ran and shrieked, happily imagining themselves in worlds of adventure and excitement. The adults smiled as they watched them play, remembering their own golden years, and occasionally submitting willingly to being dubbed the villain of the story. 

All was not well. In Hobbiton, the town's most talked about occupant- Mr Frodo Baggins- was in dire peril. He stood in the middle of a dusty cluttered room he'd never been in before and rubbed his hands wearily over his eyes. Where was it?

A sneeze came from the doorway. Pippin walked in and folded his arms, surveying his cousin. He and Merry were staying over at Bag End for the week and it was just as well. Frodo definitely needed their help this time. "Cousin Frodo, there really is not earthly use worrying. We'll find it eventually."

Frodo groaned. "It's the eventually part I'm worried about. I'm setting off next week! What am I going to do!"

"Couldn't you take something else?"

"Pippin, Auntie Rosamunda gave me that suit on her birthday five years ago! If I don't wear it to her daughter's wedding she'll kill me!"

Pippin sighed. They had been clearing out all of the dusty over-crowded messy rooms in Bag End looking for that stupid suit. "Well then, can't you at least give us more helpful directions than 'I think it's in a box somewhere'?"

Frodo shook his head, eyes still wide with slight panic. "It's probably in a room I haven't been in for a while," he offered, wringing his hands.

Pippin rolled his eyes. "Well that narrows it down to about half of Bag End. Are you absolutely positive you can't be a little bit more specific?"

Frodo shook his head again. Pippin shrugged and wandered over to a small ornately carved chest in the corner of the room. "Never mind Frodo. We'll just have to keep looking, I suppose." He reached out to take hold of the chest. He had only just picked it up and was about to open it when his eyes widened in pain and he screamed, dropping the chest to the floor. It shattered, spewing its contents across the room. 

Frodo, completely shocked, saw a white envelope with a red seal fly out onto the floor and then ran to Pippin's side, catching him as his knees gave way and calling to him frantically. "Pippin! Pippin! What is it? Pippin, speak to me!"

Pippin's eyes were closed and his body limp. Merry rushed into the room, having heard the scream from down the hall, and hurried to Frodo's side. He helped Frodo lower their cousin to the floor and they both examined Pippin's still form, both beside themselves with worry. 

Merry looked up from checking Pippin's breathing, which was light and fast, to glance at Frodo. "What happened? Frodo, what happened?"

Frodo shook his head, visibly shaking. "I don't know. He was just picking up a chest and then he screamed and collapsed."

Merry's eyes narrowed. Could it be something to do with Pippin's dreams? He gasped as he suddenly caught sight of Pippin's hands. They were blistered and cracked, as if they'd touched white-hot iron. Blood seeped from cracks in the skin and some of the skin was peeling away. But that wasn't what scared him the most. Burned into Pippin's hands, as if they had been branded there, were lines of loopy elongated symbols- a language the Merry couldn't understand but that he instinctively knew was twisted and wrong. 

Frodo let out a sob and gently took one of Pippin's hands in his own. "How?" he whispered, eyes wide with shock. "How?" 

Merry touched one of the marks hesitantly, as if to reassure himself they were real. Then he flinched away, shaking his hand. Pippin's skin was so cold it burned.

The youngest hobbit suddenly sat bolt upright. Merry and Frodo fell backwards in surprise and stared at Pippin as he turned to face them. His natural green eyes were now a fiery red-amber colour. No longer did their friend look at them- these were the wild eyes of a hunting hawk. Pippin pointed a hand at Frodo, who recoiled from the condemning gesture. Pippin spoke, his voice strangely deep and gravely.

"One Ring to rule them all." Pippin's eyes closed and he began to shudder violently. When he next spoke his voice was much higher than it had been before, but toneless, emotionless. His words ran together and what he said was barely coherent. "Cast it into the fire, destroy it. Precious it is mine. The fires of Mount Doom. Cast it into the fire. Is it secret, is it safe. It is mine cast it into the fire secret is it safe fires of mount doom cast it into the fires is it safe it is mine the fires of mount doom is it secret cast it into is it safe."

His eyes snapped open again and he stared at Frodo, his eyes still an untamed ball of amber fire. He shouted his next words accusingly at his cousin. "Is it safe?!" He collapsed to the floor and was still.

Merry let out a choked sob and scrambled over to his cousin. Pippin seemed to shift uncomfortably as the Brandybuck tugged at him, then he let out a long sigh. Merry pulled him up into his lap and hugged the Took to him. "Pippin," he whispered into the Took's ear. "Pippin, come back to me. Please. Please, come back to me."

As if in answer to that desperate plea, Pippin let out a sigh and shifted. His eyes slowly opened to reveal his natural green eyes, slightly misted by sleep. "Mer? What's wrong?" Merry cried out and clutched Pippin tighter. 

Frodo threw himself into them and wrapped his arms around both of them, crying out in relief. Pippin twisted in Merry and Frodo's embrace and focused on his cousins. "What happened? Why are you crying?" He reached out as best he could and wiped away the tears on both hobbits' faces.

"Oh Pippin," Merry's voice was hesitant and quiet. "Pippin, it was awful. I think it was one of your dreams, your visions. You became someone I didn't know. It was like there was someone else in your body, using you to speak to us."

Frodo, who didn't know anything about Pippin's visions, sniffed back a fresh flow of tears and gently stroked Pippin's curls. "My poor Pippin," he said pulling both of his cousins in tighter towards him.

Pippin was bewildered. "I don't know what you're talking about. I can't remember anything," his eyes misted over. "No, wait. There was a voice. It was dark and deep and very very old. It was evil." He shuddered. "I heard it speak to me with a tone like tomb door slamming. It sort of took me over, and I must have blacked out." He turned to Merry again. "But I can't remember any visions or dreams."

Merry gasped. "But your hands…"

Pippin held up his hands. They were clean and unmarked, with no evidence of anything untoward on them apart from a small patch of blistered skin.

Frodo took Pippin's hands in his own and stared at them. "How can this be?" he said, running his fingers over the flesh. "They were covered in burns and strange marks."

Pippin withdrew his hands from Frodo's grasp and rubbed them together. "They don't hurt at all."

Merry took one of his hands and ran his own fingers over it. "They must have disappeared when the vision stopped."

Frodo's brow furrowed. "What do you mean, Merry?"

Merry pulled out of the three-way embrace and stood, reaching down to pull Pippin up after him. "It's hard to explain. Ever since Pip was about seven or eight, he's been having strange dreams of things he's never heard about or seen. Two months before the Party he came to me and said he'd like to visit Bag End because he'd had a scary dream that Bilbo left. And other little things like knowing when there's going to be a huge storm. But sometimes he has these violent nightmares where he sees battles and death. I wish I knew why."

Frodo nodded and stood, reaching out to wrap an arm around Pippin. "My poor Pip," he said again. The Took reciprocated the embrace. 

"It's all right Frodo. I have Merry to protect me. What could possibly happen?"

Frodo smiled and let go of Pippin. "What indeed. Come on lads, I don't know about you but I could do with a stiff drink to settle my nerves. Then I shall have to look through Bilbo's old book collection to see if I can find out why these visions happen."

Merry smiled back. "That sounds like an excellent idea. Come on Pip, let's go." The Brandybuck and the Took left the room.

Frodo looked around to see what had been spilled from inside the chest. He caught sight again of the white envelope and strode over to it, curious as to what was inside. He picked it up and felt a circular object inside. Of course, Bilbo's old Ring! How could he forget?

He suddenly felt an irrational desire to rip the envelope open and have a good look at the Ring. He reached out to break the red seal, then remembered Gandalf's words. "Keep it secret and keep it safe." He shook himself and quickly put the envelope into a cupboard on the wall. Why did those words suddenly seem more ominous?

Frodo brushed off his clothes fussily and hurried out of the room to join his cousin, closing the door and locking it behind him. 

*****

I hope that wasn't too confusing! Please R&R!


	4. On the Road

Yes, she is back. Demus strikes again! And she owes lots of thanks to the following people: r-z, anon, Sonia, Ice Ember, Xena, Madi, szhismine, pipinheart, Jenni, LinZE, Olivia Sutton and Hai Took.

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Olivia Sutton: I believe I may have unintentionally confused you with my hawk metaphor from Chpt 3. When Pippin experiences that vision, the part of his soul that is a Seer, the peregrine falcon within him, comes to the fore. Thus, it is not Pippin who speaks- it is another part of his personality. I used the phrase 'hunting hawk' to show him as predatory, dangerous- which is of course totally the opposite of Pippin's character. I hope that explains thing better, and I apologise for the confusion it caused. But thank you for your kind comments.

Now, the story: again, we have moved on from where we left off. Much of this chapter is based on the Fellowship of the Ring chapter 'Three Is Company' and the events and dialogues are very much based on or taken from that particular chapter. Thus, if you haven't read the book, this chapter may confuse you.

Hobbit-wise, Frodo has found out little about Pippin's condition in his library, and the trigger of his visions remains a mystery. The chapter starts as the hobbits hide just off the road at the approach of a stranger on a black horse.

Disclaimer: I do not own Lord of the Rings.

******** 

The three hobbits crouched, hidden in the undergrowth as the hoof beats approached. It was easy to tell that this was no hobbit pony; each thudding stride sounded like the steady throbbing beat of a war drum. Whilst Pippin and Sam kept their faces hidden in the grass, as if to bury themselves into the ground, Frodo felt a strange compelling desire to peer his head around the tree roots he hid behind and watch the horse come up the road.

A great black beast, wild eyed and snorting, rounded the corner. His rider was a man, or at least man shaped. He seemed to be crouched in his saddle, his great black cloak covering his head and body, obscuring his features. As he neared the hobbits' hiding place the air seemed to grow as thick as treacle. Frodo felt himself weighed downwards by it. The rider stopped next to Frodo's tree and cocked his head as if listening. Then there came a noise like a hunting-hound trying to catch an elusive scent. The hood turned from side to side as the cloaked figure sniffed at the air.

Frodo felt the Ring burning at his chest. He felt a sudden desire to put it on, to disappear from this hooded stranger into the realms of invisibility. He reached into his pocket and, as his fingers grazed its golden surface, the desire increased. He pulled it out of his pocket and the hooded figure suddenly froze. The shock of it caused Frodo to clutch the Ring to his chest and stay as still as he possibly could. The rider slowly leaned towards the tree, sniffing deeply. Then he sat up and shook the reins. His great black steed snorted and broke into a brisk trot.

None of the hobbits dared move until he was out of sight. When they were totally sure he was gone, Frodo quickly slipped the Ring into his pocket and stood, distractedly brushing the dirt off his clothes. Sam stood as well and gazed down the road in wonderment. "What was that? What was he…it looking for?"

Frodo shuddered. "I can't say why, but I felt certain he was looking for or smelling for me; and also I felt certain I did not want him discover me. I've never seen or felt anything like it in the Shire before."

As Frodo and Sam continued to talk Pippin lay still, his head now raised from the ground. He stared at the grass in front of him. He could still feel that evil blackness in the air but with the departure of the Black Rider it had become somehow thinner- like an icy poisonous mist sinking into his skin, into his flesh. He knew that something was wrong. Whoever that Rider had been he did not belong in the Shire. He was something from an old story, an evil the world had forgotten. It did not belong here.

Frodo and Sam stopped their discussion when they realised Pippin was still on the floor. Frodo went over to his cousin. "Are you all right Pippin? You don't have to stay there, it's gone now."

"No," Pippin replied, his voice slightly quivery. "No, it's not gone. Can't you feel the taint in the air? A blackness that creeps like an oily fog?"

Frodo, unsure how to reply, simply rubbed Pippin's shoulders comfortingly as Sam looked on, concerned.

Pippin looked up into Frodo's face and the Baggins saw that his expressive eyes were strangely cloudy. They had a dreamy cast to them, but they were so dark they looked almost black. Pippin spoke. "The Nine are abroad," his voice was oddly deep and gravely. "Wraiths," he flung his arm up as if to shield his face. "Wraiths on wings!"

"Pip-"

Pippin ignored Frodo and curled up into a ball, muttering quietly to himself. Frodo and Sam both crouched beside him, both uncertain what to do. Pippin no longer seemed to be aware of them- his fevered words were jumbled and incoherent but the phrase 'fallen kings' was one he seemed to repeat frequently. 

It was then that they heard more footsteps. These however sounded different to the heavy throbbing strides of before. These beats were light and airy, and were accompanied by clear voices raised in song and laughter. Frodo craned an ear to listen and heard that the singers recited their verse in the elven tongue. He listened to their song as Sam sat in rapture. "Elves, sir. Elves!" he whispered at his master.

Frodo nodded, still trying to soothe his distressed cousin as the words of the song floated over him. 

Snow-white! Snow-white, O Lady Clear!  
O Queen beyond the Western Seas!  
O Light to us that wander here  
Amid the world of woven trees!

Gilthoniel! O Elbereth!  
Clear are thy eyes and bright thy breath,  
Snow-white! Snow-white! We sing to thee  
In a far land beyond the Sea.

O stars that in the Sunless Year  
With shining hand by her were sown,  
In windy fields now bright and clear  
We see your silver blossom blown!

O Elbereth! Gilthoniel!  
We still remember, we who dwell  
In this far land beneath the trees,  
Thy starlight on the Western Seas.

"These are High-Elves! They spoke the name of Elbereth!" Frodo said, amazed. "Few of that fairest folk are ever seen in the Shire. Not many now remain in Middle-Earth, east of the Great Sea. This is indeed a strange chance!"

Sam watched, bedazzled, as the Elves came down the road towards them. Starlight glistened in their hair and eyes and they carried no lamps. The air around them seemed to shimmer with a pale light. They halted next to the hobbits' hiding place and the leader turned towards them.

"Hail Frodo! You are abroad late! Or are you perhaps lost?"

Frodo gaped and stood, bowing to the company. "Greetings, fair people." Sam simply stared in astonishment, much to the delight of the elves.

The leading elf's brow suddenly furrowed. "One of your companions is not well, Frodo." He strode into the undergrowth and knelt next to Pippin. The glimmering luminescence the emitted from him grew in intensity and he placed a hand upon Pippin's head. "Sleep, little one. Sleep easy, The evil is gone. Let no dreams trouble you."

Pippin's little mutters and noises of distress quieted. He sighed and uncurled, relaxing into a quiet sleep. Frodo bowed again. "My thanks to you. My cousin is dear to me and I hate for him to be in pain."

The elf's face was sombre. "Alas, Frodo, it is his fate that he should walk a troubled path. Come now; let us speak of better things. My name is Gildor Inglorion of the House of Finrod."

Frodo inclined his head in respect. "Elen síla lúmenn' omentielvo." Sam suddenly seemed to remember his sense of propriety and bowed to the company.

Gildor smiled. "Be careful friends! Speak no secrets! Here is a scholar in the ancient tongue. Bilbo was a good master. Hail, Elf-Friend!" he said, as one of his company knelt next to the peacefully sleeping Pippin. "Come now, join our company. I saw in your friend's heart great evil that we should not speak of here. We will take you on our road to the woods on the hills of Woodhall and there you may lodge with us."

Frodo was overcome by the generous offer, and Sam looked like he would burst with the joy of it. "That is most gracious of you, Gildor Inglorion," Frodo said, his eyes on the elf who was carefully lifting Pippin to carry him. "This is good fortune beyond our hope!"

Gildor shook his head. "You will be safer if you travel with us, and I sense you have many questions," he replied. He followed the direction of Frodo's gaze and smiled again. "Do not fear, your friend is safe. Let us go." 

-----

Gildor stood over Frodo, watching him as he slept. When they arrived at the elves' dwelling they eaten and talked long into the night, long after the others had retired. Sam, ever faithful, had simply lain himself at Frodo's feet as his master discussed the evil matters with the elf-lord. Pippin had awoken briefly, much to his friends' delight, and had been able to partake of some of the elven fare and listen to the songs their fair hosts sang before he drifted back into his dreamless sleep.

Gildor sighed. These hobbits trod a dangerous path, and no doubt there would be still more dangers awaiting them if one of the Nine followed in their wake. Not lightly had he named Frodo Elf-friend. The hobbit would need that bond with the Elves for his journey's completion. Already Gildor sensed the Road would take these innocents far beyond Rivendell and it was a Road that those of faint heart never tried to cross.

The elf padded on noiseless feet to the bower Pippin had been lain in. He watched the youngster's face and then deepened his consciousness to connect with the hobbit's soul. The sharp cry of the peregrine falcon heralded his coming and he was met by a laughing life thread that touched at his spirit-form and then darted away teasingly.

He reached out to the thread, which pulled back from him and slowly twisted to form the shape of a falcon, which let out another cry and soared over his head.

Gildor pulled out of Pippin's soul stream and looked down at Pippin again. So this one was a Seer. He placed a fine-boned hand on Pippin's brow and carefully smoothed errant curls back from his face. "You walk a troubled road," he said to the sleeping hobbit. "Your path remains shadowed to me, but I know your journey will not be easy. May Elbereth guide you." With that the elf retired to his bower, his heart troubled by what he had seen. The Road was more dangerous than he had at first thought. He could only hope that these brave little ones would not be consumed by its dangers.

********

Thank you for reading thus far and apologies for any typos! Please leave a review!


	5. A blade through my flesh

I'm afraid this chapter is quite short, and the ending is awful. I am so very sorry.

As ever, I owe so much to these people: Xena, shirebound, anon, Jenni, Strawberry Shika, pipinheart, Ice Ember, yahoo-chocolate-bars, Hai Took, roz, Kriss Kay, Maikafuiniel and Unhobbity Hobbit. Thank you all.

Unhobbity Hobbit: Don't worry; Pippin will be trained to interpret his visions for the good of the Quest at Rivendell! For now, it is all still an unexplained mystery. However, your idea about Bree is very similar to what I have planned for that part of the story. Thank you for your review.

After the discussion of the Quest at Crickhollow, the hobbits are asleep. All seems peaceful, and Frodo's mind especially is at ease. This state of affairs is not to continue. 

For purposes of continuity, Fatty is not present in this chapter. It would have been difficult to write him in this chapter in character and have the Seer business explained to him. So apologies, Fatty fans.

Disclaimer: I do not own the Lord of the Rings

*****

Crickhollow was quiet. The long-abandoned dinner table stood forlornly empty. Barely anything stirred except the restless mice on their nightly scavenge. The only sounds from three of the bedrooms were the deep, relaxed breaths of well-fed and contented hobbits, their minds at ease after the heated discussions of earlier, their dreams clear and untroubled.

However, the dreams of the fourth hobbit were anything but untroubled. Pippin tossed restively on the comfortably homely bed, the sheets twisting into a mangled mess around his anguished form. His breath was light and rapid and every few minutes he would emit a tiny squeak of- what? Pain? Terror?

His convulsions grew steadily worse and he began to cry out as he writhed in torment. Then it happened. He clutched his shoulder convulsively and screamed- an endless howl of wordless agony. The heart-rending sound drove the other hobbits into wakefulness, and as one they dashed to Pippin's bedroom in a flurry of night-gowns. Sam hastily lit the candle he carried and all three gasped as their eyes met the scene.

Pippin lay stiff, barely breathing, his eyes wide open and glassy and his right hand clenched into a fist at his left shoulder, the fabric of his night-clothes scrunched and creased. Merry hurried to his cousin's side and pulled him up into a sitting position, calling his name and shaking him roughly. Frodo ran to them and joined Merry in his frantic pleas. Sam hesitated, then placed the candle on a low-standing cupboard and dashed off to the kitchen.

Pippin shuddered as his cousins used all of their strength to call him back. His eyes closed and his chest suddenly expanded he sucked in a huge breath. He opened his eyes and stared straight into Merry's blue orbs. "I saw…I saw…" he turned his head to look at Frodo. "I looked through your eyes."

Frodo's eyes widened and he took a step closer to Pippin. "What?"

Pippin shook his head. "I…I…" He threw himself forwards and latched his arms around his Brandybuck cousin. Merry instinctively wrapped his arms around his cousin, shushing him gently as his skinny form shivered. Frodo started to stroke his back soothingly. "What did you see, Pip?"

Pippin shook his head again as Sam came into the room with another candle and a glass of amber liquid. "Come on, Mister Pippin, try and drink this." Pippin obediently lifted his head a little and Sam carefully poured a little of the brandy down his throat. Frodo reached out to squeeze Sam's arm in thanks. The hobbit in question blushed slightly and set the glass down, coming closer to the little huddle to offer his support.

After gulping down the liquid, Pippin leant back into Merry, who whispered very quietly to him to reassure him. Pippin cleared his throat and pulled back from Merry, absently fidgeting with his sleeves.

"Pip?" Frodo prompted.  

Pippin took a deep breath and started to talk in a still shaky and subdued voice. "It was dark. There was fear in the air- so clear I could almost taste it. It was so cold- an icy mist clung to the air like a tenacious ghost. Then black shapes emerged from the mist. I heard a strange deep voice calling to me, urging me to…" he frowned. "I can't remember. The black shapes came forwards and I fell back, scrabbling to get away from them. My back hit a cold wall and they drew closer." 

Pippin jerked back from his cousins, as if seeing the figures again. "Then I heard the voice again. It kept pleading with me and ordering me in turn. I had to obey." Here Pippin paused and stared straight at Frodo, running his left hand over his right index finger absently. Frodo involuntarily reached for where the Ring would be if he had it in his pocket, then stopped and stared at his hand. 

Pippin continued. "Everything suddenly blurred. The black shapes became pale ghostly figures." Pippin turned haunted eyes on Merry. "Fallen kings in decaying finery, tortured faces and twisted limbs." He shuddered. "The tallest came towards me with a knife of purest shimmering silver. He lunged forwards to grab me, but I pulled back. He shrieked at me angrily and his arm shot out." Pippin clutched at his shoulder again and his eyes grew wide.

"A blade," he whispered. "A blade of burning ice through my skin, poisoning me with evil." He winced and pulled the cloth away from his shoulder to reveal a clean-cut wound on his shoulder, shaped by the thrust of a knife. The blood that oozed from the stab-wound was black and viscous- a vile substance. The other hobbit's gasped and Merry reached out instinctively to block the flow of blood. But as soon as his fingertips grazed the lips of the wound, they knitted together and it closed completely, halting the blood flow and leaving a dark scar on Pippin's shoulder.

Pippin gulped and looked up at the others. Frodo had his hand over his mouth, his eyes watery as he held back tears. Sam simply stood and stared, completely shocked. Merry hadn't moved. His fingers still touched the pale flesh of Pippin's shoulder, already coated by the black blood that stained it. He pulled his hand back and ran his thumb over his fingers, feeling the thick liquid spreading over his fingers. Suddenly sickened by it, Merry hastily wiped his hand on his night- clothes and looked into Pippin's frightened green eyes. 

The Took gazed back at him, voicing the thought that occupied all of their minds. "How?" His soulful orbs pleaded with his lifelong protector, desperate for an answer to explain this impossibility. "How?" 

Merry shook his head dumbly. "Oh Pip, I wish I knew. I hate for you to hurt like this!"

Frodo let out an anguished cry and threw himself at Pippin, pulling the Took close to him as if to reassure himself he was still there. "My poor Pippin. Mr poor cousin," he said, holding Pippin in a tight embrace.

Pippin locked his arms around Frodo as tears began to spill from his eyes. Merry and Sam quickly joined them and as one the hobbits sat closer than they had ever been before, needing to feel each other near and safe. They stayed like that until morning, each lost in their own thoughts, and each hoping this omen was not herald for the days ahead on the Road.

*****

Please R&R! I may re-post this with a different ending, please tell me what you think!


	6. Long live the King

And we come to Bree. I am sorry for the wait; inspiration has been sadly lacking for this story. Unfortunately, Pirates of the Caribbean now strangely fascinates my plot bunny, so this fic has been neglected.

As always, thank you to my reviewers: zimo (*hugs*), Xena, Rosie26, piplover, anon, Jenni, yahoo-chocolate-bars, Hai Took, szhismine, pipinheart, Ice Ember, TheFireV, Kriss Kay, LinZE, piplover, pippinsfangurl, pipwise brandygin, Shadowed Flames and LadyBush (big love babe!)

As previously mentioned, the hobbits are now in Bree, and as they sleep Aragorn keeps an eye out for the Nine, knowing they may strike and hoping they will not.

Disclaimer: I do not own LoTR. Alas!

*****

The Prancing Pony is a well-known and popular inn. Why shouldn't it be- it's customers are friendly with each other and the service is exceptional. The stablemaster is a master of his craft and every four-legged beast of burden put anywhere near him instantly becomes his friends. The innkeeper is a pleasant, if a trifle forgetful person and a traveller is always assured of a very warm welcome.

This image of cheery warmth and candlelit homeliness does not seem to fit. When looked at now, the Pony was a dark menacing building hanging over the street, silently foreboding. The patrons are quiet tonight, most have left early and those with rooms excused themselves from the company as soon as was polite. There is a good reason for this. Certain events of the evening have made them nervous and uneasy. And to think it started with four strangers and a hobbit with a comic song.

Aragorn sat tense and watchful at the window. His vigil was going to be a long and difficult one. He sighed. He truly wished these innocent hobbits had been more careful. Such attention as they attracted would not go unnoticed with some of the town's less reputable citizens. Who knows what would have happened is he had not been here. As it was, though they clearly mistrusted him, he had been able to convince the four hobbits to sleep in his room as he keep a sharp eye out for the Ringwraiths that he was certain dogged their trail.

Deep in thought, he suddenly became aware of a strange noise in the room where silence was essential. He focussed and heard it was a shifting sound, as if one of the hobbits in the bed was tossing in his sleep. He glanced at the bed and saw that one of the small shapes was shifting around in his sleep. Deciding it must just be an uncomfortable dream, no doubt brought on by the stress of the evening, Aragorn turned back to the window and concentrated on the courtyard of the inn.

Then he heard another strange noise. Small whimpers, like those of a dog in pain, were coming from the bed. Aragorn shook himself and tried to steel himself against the sheer misery he heard in those little cries. They did not fade away as he hoped they would, but grew louder and more distressed. Torn between keeping his vigil at the window and soothing those tortured sobs, he sat and listened, hoping that one of the other hobbits would awaken to settle the unsettled one.

After several minutes, Aragorn abandoned his watch and strode to the bed, the dim candlelight more than enough for him to be able to make out each hobbit. The cries and sobs were coming from the youngest, who'd nervously introduced himself as "Peregrin Took, sir." He was shifting restlessly, unceasingly in his sleep as he whimpered, sweat beading on his forehead, the sheets bunching slightly around him. Aragorn reached out to touch the youngster's forehead, seeking to calm the hobbit without waking him.

As soon as his fingertips grazed the damp over-warm skin, the hobbit's eyelids snapped open to reveal predatory orbs burning with amber fire. Aragorn started back as the hobbit sat up sharply. Fire-amber met stormy grey as their eyes connected. For a split-second he was staring into the eyes of a wild beast, then Peregrin's hand shot out and thudded hard against his chest over his heart. He willed himself to pull away but found his muscles locked in position, his muscles refusing to obey him. He felt himself being drawn into the hobbit's now unnaturally coloured eyes.

The hobbit, unblinking, began to speak in a voice that was strangely dead, detached and toneless- he shuddered slightly to hear it even as the words turned his blood to ice- "The crown of Numenor rests heavy on your head."

Shocked, Aragorn managed to force out, "What did you say?"

The hobbit didn't seem to hear him. Peregrin closed his eyes and his head started to move from side to side, the way a blind cat's head does as it searches for something familiar. Then fire-amber orbs opened again and he spoke again, this time his voice was deep, deeper than the deepest sea, darker than midnight in the centre of midnight. "Long live the King. All hail the true King of the West. Long live the King. The crown of Numenor rests long live the King crown of Numenor rests true King of the West long live the King-" the hobbit intoned slowly, the even tone of his deep voice contrasting with the garbled message of his words.

Aragorn, now acting purely on instinct as his thoughts were frozen by the damning statement, wrapped his hands around the hobbit's thin shoulders and closed his eyes, willing him to be calm and still. Peregrin's jumbled litany slowly faded and stopped and the hobbit slumped in his grasp, his eyes closing. 

After a few minutes the hobbit's breathing evened out and he returned to a dream-free restful sleep, untroubled by nightmares. Aragorn carefully laid him back on the bed and stood for a moment, regarding him. What had just happened? Why had the hobbit brought back to him the ever-increasing burden his ancestry gave him? And most importantly, why had the little creature been so changed, so different?

His mind buzzing with questions of what, why, how, Aragorn re-assumed his seat next to the window, deep in thought. The hobbit had seen within him a secret he had long kept hidden from the world, seen deep into his very soul, and there seemed no reason for it, no explanation for it. If now, at this time of strife, the little creature's mind had been so affected by his presence, what did that mean for the journey ahead and the wider Road that Aragorn must take? And why was it this little one who had been chosen by the whirling winds of Fate to remind Aragorn of the difficult choice he had been running away from for so long?

*****

Sorry it was so short! Please R&R!


	7. Recalling an icefire blade

I really cannot apologise enough for the delay in the posting of this chapter. I can only hope that my readers, as authors themselves, will understand the frustration writer's block can cause. Anyway, we rejoin the hobbits as they and Strider begin their journey to Rivendell. Much of this chapter is taken from the book, so it is quite slow. Sorry.

I owe and amazingly big thank you to: :D, Audrey Miercoles, pru, LadyBush, Strawberry Shika, pipwise brandygin, Xena, LinZE, TheFireV, anon, Zimo, Hai Took, Kriss Kay, Jenni, Ice Ember and pipinheart

Disclaimer: I do not own LotR.

~~~~~ 

They had been travelling for five days, 'Strider' leading the hobbits along paths that no-one could follow without prior knowledge. Their trail was, at first, twisting and undulating, crossed and confusing. It was a short cut designed to make a long delay for any trackers of their trail, and Aragorn knew his skills well enough to know that none of the darker inhabitants of Bree would be able to track them. When he deemed them safe, he had set off on his desired path. By the third day after setting off from Bree, they were clear of the woods, and the going was good. The hobbits had adjusted remarkably to the brisk pace their guide set and their progress was good. However, the road was now to become difficult.

The humid, foggy, treacherous quagmire of Midgewater Marshes made the journey laborious. The expanses of boggy marsh were complicated to navigate, and there was no clear way through, even for their protecting Ranger. And the swarms of tiny insects made the days they spent carefully picking their way through the marshes a hellish experience. More midges than water indeed.

Aragorn had been observing the hobbits as they travelled, assessing their strengths and seeing how they worked together as a group. Sam was utterly devoted to Frodo, and also seemed to be forming an affectionate regard for the little broken-down pony that carried their things. As he understood it, Sam was Frodo's gardener, but their bond was obviously one of deep friendship. They would often be found walking together in silence, simply content with each other's company, Sam keeping an ever-watchful eye on his master's wellbeing. 

The other two, Merry and Pippin, also shared a special bond. They were thicker than thieves, and judging by some of the stories he heard on the journey they had a good reason to be so. Aragorn had not yet confronted the youngest hobbit about the incident in the Prancing Pony; indeed, the youngster seemed not to know of it, but he had kept an especially close watch on him to try and decipher why the hobbit had been so changed and spoken to him thus. It was obvious to Aragorn that this was not the hobbit's natural way. With his cousin he was light and happy, and the two would habitually tease Frodo, Sam and each other in moments of peace amongst their small company. They always walked together and the man noted that Merry was extremely protective of his young cousin, and Pippin was careful to keep a surreptitious eye on how Merry was coping. They were attuned to each other's moods and those of the other two. Evidence, then, of a very strong friendship between them all. They would need that support in time. 

By the fifth day they were out of the marshes and the hobbits were much more accustomed to the long days spent walking on the commons. Aragorn privately agreed with Pippin when the youngster remarked that Frodo looked twice the hobbit he'd been. But at the hobbit's comment about Wraiths, his mood grew dark and he sharply silenced the hobbits. Such talk was not safe at this time. 

When they sighted Weathertop, Aragorn began to search for signs of Gandalf's presence amongst the hills, patiently answering the questions the hobbits asked about the history of the place. He found himself pleasantly surprised at Sam's depth of knowledge- they song he sang of Gil-Galad was part of an ancient Elven lay that Bilbo had, unbeknownst to the man, translated. He was less pleased by the next turn of the conversation- with the Black Riders hunting for them, talk of Mordor was extremely inadvisable. 

Their progress slowed as the day went on. When they reached Weathertop, they had split into two groups, Sam and Pippin looking after Bill at the base of the hill and doing some exploring of the lower dells and hollows as Aragorn took Merry and Frodo to the top to scout around. The ancient blackened stone cairn at the summit of the hill revealed Gandalf's sign, and Aragorn's suspicions of dark followers were confirmed when they spotted Black Riders assembling on the road some distance away.

They met up with Sam and Pippin again and discovered the cache of wood left by the Rangers. When the day began to trudge towards dusk and darkness, they lit a fire from the Rangers' supply. Huddling round it for warmth, the travelling companions quietly discussed the day's findings and developments, Aragorn taking charge of the conversation to reassure the hobbits that they would reach Rivendell, with his skills in the wild of food-gathering and swift movement on slow feet. It was then that he began to tell them tales of long-gone days, of the histories and mythologies of Men, hoping to distract them from their desperate situation. He was not surprised to hear Sam's wish for a lighter tale of Elves in the Elder days as Lady Night wrapped them in her chilled ice grip. As he spoke of the beauty of Tinuviel, he found himself picturing his beloved as she wandered the paths of Rivendell, imagining her serene joy when he returned to her.

He fell silent as the waxing moon clambered over the edge of Weathertop. Merry and Sam walked to the edge of their sheltered dell and stood quietly. Frodo and Pippin stayed next to the fire, nearer to the somewhat reassuring presence of 'Strider'. 

It was then that Pippin moved. He suddenly jerked forwards towards the fire as is he had been struck and gripped at the ground with both hands, clenching his mouth shut and throwing back his head, looking like he was trying to hold down a scream. Frodo, alarmed, grabbed his cousin's shoulders as Aragorn leapt to his feet at the sudden movement, his senses alert. He knew little of the youngster, but it seemed that Pippin was sensitive to ancient powers- be they good or bad- and such an action was not to be taken lightly. 

The air took on a knife-edge tension again and Aragorn could feel a slight change in the atmosphere- evil's bitter tang in the clear night breeze. He glanced at the hobbits- Frodo was digging his hands into Pippin's shoulders and talking soothingly into his ears. Sam and Merry were rushing back from the edge of the dell.

"I don't know what it is," Sam said, skidding to a halt. "But I suddenly felt afraid. I dursn't go outside this dell for any money; I felt that something was creeping up the slope."

Frodo looked up from where Pippin's form was slowly beginning to relax, despite his still-shut eyes and shuddering breath. "Did you see anything?" he asked, his shining eyes alight with fear.

"No sir. I saw nothing, but I didn't stop to look."

Merry was staring at Pippin, concerned, but at Sam's words he glanced away. He turned to Frodo then Aragorn, saying, "I saw something, or I thought I did- away westward where the moonlight was falling on the flats beyond the shadow of the hill-tops, I thought there were two or three black shapes. They seemed to be moving this way."

Aragorn grabbed several of the long branches from their pile of firewood and quickly distributed them amongst the hobbits, gently but firmly lifting a recovering Pippin to his feet. "Take these, and stay close to the fire with your faces outwards!" he ordered, taking the two longest pieces in either hand. All five of them waited. Waited for the imminent attack. 

------

[Pippin's POV]

Pippin was finding it hard to breathe. His heart seemed to be thudding ten times too fast, and he was on edge, alert and tense. Before, when he had collapsed forwards, it had been as if a large force had slammed into him from behind, grabbed his mind in a fire-brand grip, then released him. He was still slightly dazed from the attack, his only thoughts focussed on protection-whatever had taken hold of him was near. Too near.

A movement at the lip of the dell drew his and the others' attention. He heard Merry gasp beside him and echoed that gasp as three or four tall black shadows assembled on the hillside and slowly advanced. He felt, rather than saw, Strider brace himself for action. And then he was suddenly hugely aware of Frodo, as if their thoughts were running together. He heard his cousin's sudden, unreasonable desire to use the Ring, even though no words were spoken. And then black fog engulfed him.

Sinking, sinking into an enclosing quagmire, he was twisting, turning, searching for an escape from dark shapes whose evil thoughts threatened to overwhelm his mind. Trapped, defenceless, held by the eyeless empty gazes of faceless demons he was unable to move. Then:

Life, movement, action. Strider, Merry and Sam leapt forwards, yelling words Pippin couldn't hear through the dense freezing mist that fogged his senses. He could feel a ferocious heat behind him, an ancient voice calling its servants to carnage, and he struggled to turn to it. He saw Frodo raise the Ring, felt all of the Wraiths' attentions turn to his cousin, saw him put on the Ring and turn invisible. And their thoughts truly became one.

He felt his own body collapse to the ground, then he was seeing the world through different eyes. A ghost world, a half-world, a world Pippin/Frodo could see due to the evil gold band on his/Frodo's fingers. As if their cloaks had been cast aside, he/Frodo could see the tall pale shapes of the Wraiths as they truly were. Great figures clad in rotting grey garments, a mockery of their true noble status. In their red malevolent eyes, an unsurpassable greed and hunger burned. They stepped forwards, their silver swords raised. The leading Wraith pulled a knife from a small scabbard, the rusty pitted metal squealing its protest, and began to advance on him/Frodo. Pippin saw his/Frodo's sword burn like a firebrand then felt his cousin's sudden resolve. Frodo leapt forwards calling _O Elbereth! Gilthoniel!,_ and as he did so, a wailing scream sounded that echoed throughout all the Ages of the world. 

Pippin suddenly felt his spirit return to his own body his failing eyes saw the cloaked leading Wraith plunge his weapon into the space in the air where he knew Frodo to be. He saw Strider leap towards the Wraith with two flaming branches as it screamed an ancient curse. Frodo was suddenly visible again, the Ring having slipped from his finger as he fell into a dead faint. 

Pippin felt an icefire pain pierce his right shoulder, felt thick blood dribble down his flesh, felt exactly what he had felt in his dream at Crickhollow. Then he too fell forwards as his mind slipped into a dark abyss.

~~~~

Please leave a review! And I'm sorry, but the next update may take a while as well.


	8. SwiftWind

I hate exams. I hate them very much.

Here we are, at chapter 8! Thank you to everyone who reviewed chpt 7: Unhobbity Hobbit, Emerald-Water, Ice Ember, Audrey Miercoles (a belated good luck to you as well!), therinspell, banana flavoured dragon (love ya!), anon, Jenni, Hai Took, pippinsfangurl, KAJ, Samwise the Strong, Athril, pipinheart, pipwise brandygin, nekohebi (love ya too!), Strawberry Shika, The FireV, pru and Sheep (I'm a leprechaun!)

Big hugs to you all! Unlike my other chapters, this one begins where the last left off.

Disclaimer: I do not own LotR.

* * *

Pippin was lost. He was stood alone, hurt and afraid, surrounded by swirling grey fog. All he knew about his surroundings was that he was stood on a firm mud-track. His clothes, made damp by the impenetrable mist, clung to him, their dampness chilling his goose-pimpled skin. There was nothing to guide him- he could see nothing, smell nothing, hear nothing. He was stranded in the middle of an empty lifeless world, friendless and oh so much alone.

The despair weighed heavily on his mind. It consumed him, making the agonising pain in his shoulder seem many times worse. He dared not even touch the wound to assess its severity. Such was the pain he feared he would black out. He valiantly tried to ignore it, box it away in the back of his mind, but with nothing around him to distract his attention it was growing harder and harder to hold himself together. Already he could feel tears pooling in his eyes and he felt his legs give way beneath him. Sinking to his knees, he wrapped his arms around himself and began to sob quietly, feeling more isolated and scared than he had ever felt.

After what seemed like an age, but was probably no more than a few minutes, he became aware of a strange sound in the greyness. He lifted his head, sniffing, and tried to ignore the insistent dagger-thrust pain running through him. The noise was an odd swishing sound, but it was intermittent, broken up. The breaks between the noises were irregular, some long, some short. Pippin carefully stood and automatically brushed himself off, desperately straining his ears. The sounds were coming nearer, directly towards him.

Pippin gulped down the panic that threatened to envelop him and forced himself to calm, bracing for a possible impact. What happened next completely shocked him.

The dark-hooded, black-barred, hook-beaked form of a peregrine falcon flew out of the all-encompassing mist and neatly landed in front of him. He regarded it cautiously, unsure of its purpose. It was a female by the size. His father had always pointed out peregrines whenever they made one of their rare flights over Tuckborough, mainly because of his son's interest in his namesakes. The females were bigger than the males.

This one was particularly beautiful. Despite the confusion and fear in his pain-befuddled mind, Pippin couldn't help but admire her sharp profile and glossy feathers, the proud way she held her head, training bright yellow-rimmed black eyes on him. Only half-aware of what he was doing, he inclined his head respectfully to her. The falcon spread her impressive wings and dipped them in a salute. Still caught in confusion, Pippin held out his arm. The peregrine instantly fluttered up onto his arm.

Unprepared for the weight, Pippin felt his weak legs quiver again, but stood firm. The falcon tightened the grip of her taloned feet on his arms for balance, trying, it seemed, to avoid spearing him with her vicious talons. She looked him directly in the eye again and he felt warmth, like a friendly caress, touch his mind. Slightly breathless, he stroked her with his free hand. His pain and confusion receded a little as another warm touch caressed his troubled thoughts. "Swift-Wind," the name sprang unbidden to his mind, as did his next words. "Seer-Sign, Soul-Partner, guide me."

Swift-Wind spread her wings and took to the air, shrieking her sharp call. She arced overhead and began to fly into the mist. Even though he couldn't see her, Pippin could instinctively feel where she was and he began to follow her path, running to keep up with her. She led him on through the dense fog and he trusted her to guide him to safety. He sensed her halt and he stopped directly underneath her as she hovered. "Swift-Wind!" he called to her. She replied with a screech. Somehow understanding her, Pippin took another step forwards. And fell into a dark abyss of pain and loss and fear and help me help me help me…

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Merry hadn't moved for some time. After the Wraiths had vanished into the night, Aragorn had instantly seen to Frodo, feeling immense relief as the hobbit awoke and began to talk. He directed Sam to help him warm water and prepare poultices to ease the pain of the gaping wound. He had spoken quietly with the gardener, seeing no sense in worrying the others, about the nature of the wound and the situation with the Wraiths. They both spoke gently to Frodo as they tended his wounds, telling him how they found him lying on the ground defenceless with the Ring in his hands. During their ministrations, Frodo had dozed off into a pain-filled sleep. Aragorn directed Sam to keep watch over his master and make sure the fire warmed him.

Then he only noticed Merry. The Brandybuck crouched over Pippin's lifeless form, trying to stem the flow of black blood from a wound almost identical to Frodo's as tears ran down his face. Aragorn, berating himself for his stupidity, had quickly cleaned and bound the wound, his body working automatically after years of healing as his mind raced with questions. What? How? Why? An empathetic experience was something he had little knowledge of. Would the conditions of the two hobbits be the same? Or would Pippin recover without Elrond's aid? Did this mean Pippin was sharing Frodo's pain or suffering entirely his own illness? Which of them would fall into darkness? And when? When?

Merry said nothing. He simply sat with Pippin's head in his lap next to the fire, watching as his precious cousin twitched and moaned in his sleep. Aragorn had no idea where Pippin's mind was, but he sensed that the youngest hobbit wandered lost in the mists of the World between worlds, alone and friendless. Alas, he had seen this before. Sometimes recovery was quick and the victim was soon back to normal. Sometimes they never fully recovered, becoming totally dependent on friends and family to care for them, feed them, clothe them and tend to their bruised soul. But with Pippin's extraordinary mental sensitivity, there was no knowing what might befall him. Despite the short time he'd known the hobbits, Aragorn knew Merry would be totally crushed if his cousin remained lost to him. He sighed and went to check on Frodo.

It was then that Pippin stilled. He stopped moving altogether; there were no more cries of pain or fear. His limbs relaxed and he smiled. Merry, uncomprehending, simply sat and watched his cousin. Pippin lay still for several minutes, then with a cry of "Swift-Wind!" he jerked awake.

Terrified green eyes stared up at Merry, pleading and pain-filled. Merry quickly shifted to allow Pippin to sit up and scramble into his lap. He wrapped his arms around him and soothed his hands along his cousin's back as the youngster settled into his familiar embrace. "Pippin," he breathed into his cousin's shoulder as the Took trembled in his grip. He buried his face into Pippin's jacket, feeling his own limbs begin to shake with relief. "I thought…I thought…Oh Pippin…"

Pippin tightened his hold on Merry, ignoring the slightly lessened pain in his shoulder. Aragorn observed them silently, relieved at Pippin's dramatic awakening. He looked down at Sam, who had torn his eyes from Frodo and seemed to be caught in indecision. The man laid a hand on his shoulder and squeezing in a comforting gesture. "Go to them," he said, kindly.

Sam shot him a look of gratitude as the man settled down next to Frodo. The gardener hurried over to his friends and knelt next to them. Knowing better than to intrude on the cousins, he simply touched each of them in turn, reassuring himself that they were alive and whole. He didn't sit with them for long before returning to Frodo's side. "I think it'd be better if we left 'em, begging your pardon sir," the sturdy hobbit said, blinking back tears. "I ain't never seen 'em this clingy and that's a fact." Aragorn nodded and moved to allow Sam to take the nearest place next to his beloved master.

The man rubbed his eyes wearily. The night's action and consequences had intensified his earlier fears. If they did not get to Rivendell soon, Frodo would completely succumb to the power of his wound despite his immense strength. And then of course there was the mystery of what had happened to Pippin. He hoped that, if they managed their suddenly impossible journey, his foster father would be able to understand what was going on in the youngster's troubled soul. He directed his thoughtful gaze back to the cousins.

Pippin seemed to be calming down. His death-grip on Merry was beginning to loosen. Merry lifted his head from Pippin's shoulder and opened his arms slightly to allow his cousin to shift into a more comfortable position, still in his lap. He squeezed his arms tight around Pippin's thin form again and took a deep breath, releasing it slowly and shakily. "Pippin," he breathed. "Are you…better now?"

Pippin half-nodded, trying to keep his eyes open for his cousin's sake, unwilling to slip into sleep after such a short time reunited with his cousin. He nuzzled his head into Merry's shoulder and breathed in his familiar scent. Suddenly desperate to explain, he reached out to take the edge of Merry's jacket and began to mould it in his hands, an old habit of his. "Merry," he said, his voice slightly hoarse. "Merry, it was like nothing I'd ever experienced before."

Merry, aware of 'Strider' coming towards them, caught the man's eyes and deliberately said, "Tell me, Pip."

Pippin closed his eyes and tried to put into words what had happened. "When the…things came, I could feel…it was like my dream, everything became slower, the air became darker and it was like a marsh, Merry. Sinking into a marsh. When the black shapes came closer, and everyone leapt forwards, I could _feel_ Cousin Frodo put on the Ring, and then," Pippin stopped. His eyes grew wide and his face paled. "Frodo! Is he all right? Where, where is he Mer, what-"

Aragorn spoke. "He is resting, Pippin. He has been grievously wounded, but he is strong. I think he will resist the evil in his wound."

Pippin nodded and continued his narrative. "I felt him put the Ring on his finger, and then…he was me," he opened his eyes looked up into Merry's confused blue orbs. "I don't know how to describe it…It was like we stopped being two and became one…I could feel the Ring on my finger, I was in a different world. The black shapes became tall white figures of tortured kings, as if they had been unveiled. Their faces..." Pippin shuddered and Merry rubbed his back comfortingly.

"Go on, Pip," he said encouragingly. "It's all right now, Strider chased them away." Aragorn nodded, even though Pippin wasn't looking at him.

Pippin took a deep breath and carried on. "I heard myself, I mean Frodo cry out, it was like a magical incantation. There was a horrible scream, like a dying animal, and a great pain in my shoulder." Pippin fingered the bandage on his shoulder. "I was suddenly back in my own body. I looked up and saw Strider jump at the Wraith in front of Frodo, then I blacked out. When I woke up…the place is hard to describe. It was like all the colour had been drained away. There was no life, no smells, nothing. I felt so alone." Pippin clutched tighter at Merry, reassured by his cousin's strong arms.

Merry placed his cheek against the top of Pippin's head, trying to hide the tremor in his voice and he soothed his cousin. "I'm here Pip, you don't need to be scared." Aragorn forced himself not to say anything or attempt to help ease the youngster's fear. It was better for Pippin to be comforted by familiar arms this night.

"I sat there, in swirling fog for ages," Pippin said, regaining his train of thought. "I just sat there, not doing anything. I couldn't do anything. Then I heard what turned out to be wings beating through the mist. A peregrine falcon flew at me and landed near me. Se seemed to have a strange sort of…connection with me" Pippin shook his head. "I don't understand why or how, but she lead me out of the mist and then I was falling…Then I woke up here with you."

Merry's brow furrowed in thought as Pippin awaited his judgement. Aragorn silently got up and went to the mouth of the dell, his own mind humming with the story Pippin had told.

Merry spoke at last, not noticing his departure. "A peregrine? That's odd…" He stroked Pippin's hair, dismissing it for more important thoughts. "Sleep now, Pippin. I've got you" He needn't have said it- Pippin's unusual dream-exhaustion had led the young hobbit to quietly drift off at the end of his narrative. The Took stayed cuddled into Merry, murmuring almost inaudibly in his sleep. Merry only caught one word- "Protecter."

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I am really not happy with this chapter. I think it warrants a re-write. Please review and tell me what you think! Thanks!


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